New Hope, Only Hope
by Katey of Maychoria
Summary: With Owen and Beru dead, Ben Kenobi finds himself overwhelmed with unexpected responsibilities and dangers. Meanwhile, Darth Vader has become aware of a bright young Force-presence on Tatooine. Huge AU featuring eight-year-old Luke
1. Prologue: Morning Has Broken

_Title_: New Hope, Only Hope  
_Authors_: Kateydidnt and Laura of Maychoria  
_Category_: Angst, Action  
_Timeframe:_ Pre-ANH (Big, fat AU)  
_Summary_: With Owen and Beru dead, Ben Kenobi finds himself overwhelmed with unexpected responsibilities and dangers. Meanwhile, Darth Vader has become aware of a bright young Force-presence on Tatooine.  
_Characters:_ Luke Skywalker, Ben Kenobi, Darth Vader  
_Disclaimer_: If we owned Star Wars, Obi-Wan would have a lot more screentime. We don't, so he doesn't. :massive sigh:  
_Authors' Note:_ During the Writers Race Challenge #6, we were bitten by an enormous plot-bunnyzilla. It has refused to let go. Rather than fighting it, we decided to get excited and see where it goes. Do follow us down the bunny-hole, if you dare. We promise the dark can't hurt you . . . permanently.

**Prologue: Morning Has Broken**

The creature squeals and fur sticks to blood-stained jaws. The krayt dragon yawns widely, displaying straight white teeth, watching the suns rise over the bones of the Tatooine desert. Morning has come like broken glass, shattered and bright, sharp to the touch, painful and compelling at once. Luke is still alone, yet he is pleased, both with the taste of the blood and the wetness as it soothes his scorched throat.

Luke squints toward the suns, wiping the blood from his mouth. He isn't sure why the morning makes him think of broken things. Perhaps he is now a broken thing. He remembers little . . . was there smoke, fire? Death. His aunt and uncle, broken things in the corpse of their home.

His memory is like shards of glass as well. There was . . . light. Dawn. Then red laser blasts, shouts and calls, the percussive thunder of blaster fire. Uncle Owen shoved Luke into the garage, ordering him to get down and keep quiet. Luke, lanky for his eight years, was still small enough to hide behind a pile of broken droid parts. He tried to keep quiet, tried to stifle his whimpers, and succeeded for the most part. The red laser blasts hadn't found him, hadn't pierced the fortress walls he'd erected.

Broken. He rolls the word on his mental tongue, tasting it as he tastes the blood that slicks his lips as he sucks it off his fingers. It is good word. If he voiced it, even the sound would be like shattering glass. He mouths it carefully, silently, feeling the shape of it on his tongue.

Luke shudders suddenly and hunches in on himself, his vision hazing as he remembers another fragment of that terrible dawn. The harsh sound of breathing, a swirl of darkness . . . a sense of overwhelming power and malevolence, a black flowing cape, a man without a face . . . . Hidden behind his inadequate shelter of shattered pieces, Luke curled into a ball and thought desperately, "I'm not here, I'm not here, I'm not here, I'm not here . . ." until the darkness receded a bit.

He shakes his head and throws it off. It does not do to think about that, to think about anything, really. Life is in the moment now, in the rising and setting of the suns, in the spill of bright blood on the sand, in the cool of a shady rock. He will not think about that red dawn.

Since then Luke has been driven to seek something that is not broken, driven into the wilderness of jutting red peaks and yellow wastes. No doubt he would have died, had he not discovered that blood is like water.

Water, it has been many days since he has tasted water. Blood is good. Blood satisfies. But it isn't clean. Luke crouches in the sand and rubs the grit on his hands, trying to scrape off the red. There was little blood on his aunt and uncle, only black scorch marks. Still, he doesn't like it on his hands.

He is a krayt dragon now, small but mighty. He has learned to stalk, to pounce, to pierce the neck. Krayt dragons sleep during the day and hunt at night. Luke glances around, searching for a good rock to hide under.

Not far away, a canyon of red-brown rocks rips into the desert. Luke knows he must hide. The little creatures of brown robes and shining red eyes, the big ones of masked faces and long rifles—none must see him. He finds a crevice to wait out the day, deep in dry shadows, and soon falls into a light doze.

"Luke. Luke, I've found you."

A new voice. Luke opens his eyes warily. He's been found. They've come to finish the job. Perhaps now he'll be broken indeed.

It is a man, no longer young, his hair streaks of red and white. A kind face, half sun and half shadow as he leans near the crevice. An elegant voice that tugs gently at deep memories, memories of hiding, seeking safety, leaving one place for another.

He reaches a hand into Luke's hiding place, but not too far. Not threatening. Offering.

"Come with me, little one. I'll set you right."

Luke studies bright blue eyes, so sad and old. He looks at the callused hand, waiting patiently for his decision. It's been a long time since he's seen another hand besides his own small, stained one.

He blinks, his vision wavering strangely, as he realizes that he is not a krayt dragon. He is a human child, and he doesn't like being alone. Luke squints at the man's face, trying to remember. No name comes to him, but he has seen this person before . . . before the morning of breaking.

His head reels and he leans it against the rock, closing his eyes, fighting vertigo. His chest heaves for air, almost like sobbing, but there is no moisture for tears. Somethings surges about him, something that is warmth and peace and light, and it gently prompts him to accept. _You are safe. This is the right path._

Luke opens his eyes and stares steadily at the stranger. Slowly he reaches out, touches that warm, open hand. It closes gently around his small fingers and draws him out of his hiding place.

"All is well, young Luke. I will take care of you."


	2. Chapter 1: Silence

**Chapter 1: Silence**

The child still hadn't said a word.

Ben Kenobi sat beside the bed, watching young Luke Skywalker sleep. The boy had allowed himself to be led by the hand, all the way from the Judland Wastes. Fortunately it had only been a twenty-minute walk from there to Ben's home. And wasn't it odd that the lost boy had ended up so near to the only place that offered any semblance of safety for him?

He could only attribute it to the guidance of the Force. Ben sighed and dropped his head into his hands, his elbows on his knees, remembering that morning when the terrible news came that the Lars farmstead had been attacked, that Owen and Beru were dead, and Luke was missing. The killers had tried to make it look like a Tusken raid, but Ben recognized the signs of Imperial procedure.

How long had it been? Almost two weeks? Force be merciful, the child had survived alone in the desert for twelve days. Ben rubbed his fingers under his sagging eyes, studying Luke's small, sunburned face, peaceful now in repose. Twelve days he'd spent searching, trying to follow the faint trail of the boy's Force-signature. Twelve days of desperation, grief, and guilt.

Tatooine was supposed to be safe. Luke was supposed to grow up in obscurity, shielded from the rest of the universe as it spun rapidly downward into a black hole of corruption. He was supposed to be anonymous, just a farmboy, invisible to searching Imperial eyes. Later, later, when he was an adult, ready for the burden—that was when he was supposed to step forward into his role as the last, best hope for the galaxy. This was far too much, far too soon.

Luke stirred, lips moving soundlessly, and Ben gently laid his hand on the small shoulder that was almost lost in one of the Jedi's own tunics. For a moment he thought Luke would fight the contact, his eyelids fluttering rapidly, but then the boy settled back against the pillow. Apparently there was some trust there already, even in sleep. That was good. Ben had been afraid that after all that Luke had seen and suffered, he would remain the wild boy who had sought solace in the desert.

But the child had been perfectly docile. He had not made a sound, nor responded to Ben's careful words and touches with any sort of gesture, simply studied the man with eyes like the sky over Alderaan, blue and clear and expressionless. He let Ben lead him into the hut, set him on the kitchen table, and gently sponge his dirty little body with the precious ration of water set aside for cleaning. The only time he'd shown any initiative at all was when Ben started to scrub the red-brown stains on his hands. Then the boy had suddenly grabbed the rag from the man and washed his hands himself, rubbing so hard that his arms and shoulders shook. Ben had glimpsed the first emotion he'd seen in the boy since the finding—desperation.

But once his hands were clean, Luke fell back into that submissive daze. He let Ben apply azhali cream to his sunburns, tilting his head or lifting his arms when prompted, but otherwise making no sign. He had accepted the large tunic Ben slipped over his head, and taken the measly nourishment the Jedi could offer, drinking the water thirstily but consuming only a few bites of the bread, his eyelids beginning to droop. He had allowed Ben to tuck him into this uncomfortable hermit's cot, and then sleep had come swiftly and absolutely, holding the child in gentle, unrelenting claws.

Ben was troubled, to put it lightly. Eight years he had lived alone, and he had grown to appreciate solitude. Never, never had he expected to have the charge of a child again, least of all this particular child. He looked at the little lad lying still on the cot, and remembered another young boy with blond hair and blue eyes, also thrust suddenly into his care, with burdens and sorrows that he could not ease.

He shivered and rose swiftly to his feet, pacing over to the window to gaze out at the sun-drenched desert. So many bad choices . . . He could not fail again. He dared not fail again. This hope was not only the last and best, it was the only one that had any chance of succeeding.

He would not fail again.

Ben looked back at the sleeping boy. His presence in the Force was diffuse and unfocused, untrained but very bright. The potential there was staggering—of course, it would be. He was the son of Skywalker. But now that Ben took a moment to study him, probing with gentle tendrils of the Force, he encountered natural shields that rebuffed him smoothly and sweetly, tendrils sliding away unable to grip the slick surface. Something had caused Luke to shut himself completely away, and his instincts had served him well. The boy was almost invisible in the Force now. No doubt it was connected with that terrible morning twelve days ago.

The Jedi was familiar with shields, intimately so. He never lowered his any more, never reached out too far in meditation, never sought news of the larger galaxy. He didn't want to know, to see. He had seen enough.

Ben sat at the rickety little table, absently fingering the tiny comlink he left there, rarely used. He wished he had an intergalactic comm. Wished Yoda had one. Wished Qui-Gon had one, and was just a frequency away. Wished a lot of things, all of them impossible.

Useless. He spent far too much time in the past as it was. _Focus on the moment,_ that old familiar mantra he'd spent years learning, but never perfected. Only now it was not the future that distracted him.

Ben set the comlink aside, running the pads of his fingers over the harsh, dry gray wood of the table, rough against his old calluses. Luke needed so much. He didn't know if he would be able to provide all of it.

But he was never letting the child out of his sight again, that was for certain. It would be a slow, painful process, he had no doubt, but he would earn the boy's trust, get him speaking again. School started in a few weeks, and thanks to the Empire's many new laws, it could not be avoided. They must not draw attention, and a mute boy who had the year before been amongst the brightest in his class would certainly draw attention. So that was the first order of business. Talking.

It wasn't going to be easy. Ben sighed, shoulders slumping in the coarse fabric of his worn robe. He'd never been good at talking, never knew quite what to say. His poor Padawan, grasping desperately for support and comfort—he'd never been able to give it. He hadn't known how, had been too much in need of it himself, perhaps. Twenty years later, he could ponder that possibility and admit that it was very likely true.

Ben was older now, and perhaps a bit wiser. He would learn. Whatever he needed to do, he would.

Luke made a soft sound in his sleep, a tiny, gasping whimper. Ben stood from the table, almost knocking the chair over, and crossed quickly to the bed to kneel at his side. "Luke? Can you hear me, little one?"

Luke struggled against the sheet, eyes shifting wildly beneath the sealed lids. Even in the throes of nightmare he did not make any large, fussy noises, but nearly-silent gasps that tore at Ben's heart, each strangled little whimper ripping the hole a little wider. "Luke. Come now, young one, it's time to wake up."

Still the boy fought, sweat beginning to trickle down sun-reddened temples. With a bright, achingly sweet flash of memory, Ben cupped the child's face in his hands and leaned close. "Luke," he whispered. "You're safe. I am here and I will not leave you. Luke. It isn't real. Wake now."

The smallest fissure appeared in Luke's mental armor, and he projected, inexorably and uncontrollably. Unprepared, Ben's head all but snapped back under the assault, but he steadied himself with a gasp, his eyes flying wide at the images. _Vader! Vader was here!_

Then the boy stilled, blue eyes reluctantly cracking open to stare out, unseeing. Ben gaped back at him, breathing hard, unable to speak.

……

Darth Vader _hated_ Tatooine.

Which was why his master had sent him here, of course. Punishment for that slight . . . slip . . . of control on Malastare. And being here, trapped on this armpit of a planet, was punishment approaching torture.

Vader strode down the corridor to the lower levels, his cape swirling behind him. Officers and troopers snapped to attention as he passed, the appropriate amount of terrified respect in every stance and expression. A few of them had been with him when he visited the Lars homestead, and they were well aware of how long and how well he held a grudge, and what the consequences were.

By all the Dark Lords, he hated Tatooine. Hated the smell of it, the taste of it, the fact that he had been born here, and that there still lived a few pathetic souls who knew that damning fact. Vader had managed to forget that, mostly, but when his master forced to come here, to "oversee" the implementation of Imperial policies on this backward planet, he had remembered.

Never one to wait around while something could be done to ease his mind, Vader had acted on that thought. The only moments of pleasure he had felt in the past two weeks had been those, the beautiful sight of dozens of blaster bolts, the shock and terror on their stupid faces. And the Emperor hadn't bothered to reprimand this use of his free time. Had seemed rather amused, actually, the shadows shifting unusally on his blue-tinted holographic face as he spoke to Vader later.

Vader tilted his head a bit, remembering another detail of that beautiful morning. There had been an unusual flicker in the Force, faint and insubstantial. It had been weak and passing, and he had ignored it, gloating over the broken figures of those who should have saved his mother. Now he had enough distance to consider that flicker, and wonder if it ought to be investigated.

Oh well. Time enough for that later. The Emperor's right-hand man had reached his destination.

Vader came to a halt outside the door of the cell on the lowest level. "Your mission was successful, Lieutenant Borslav?"

The officer nodded sharply. "We have the Toydarian in custody, Lord Vader." If he wondered why Vader was interested in this broken-down alien, his face did not show it. "He's rather fragile though, my lord. Very old for his species. He might not last through a full interrogation."

Vader inclined his head slightly. "He will live as long as I require him to."

And he stepped inside the cell.


	3. Chapter 2: How to heal

A/N: SPOLIER WARNING! This chapter has some direct influences from Episode Three.

Chapter 2

**How to heal what has been broken**

Ben awoke suddenly and completely to a soft, almost inaudible, sound. He quickly stood, looking around warily for the source of the noise.

The cot was empty.

His heart jumped as he looked swiftly around the small hut. There was no sign of the little child. Exiting from the front door, he tried to sense Luke's presence.

Fear stabbed into his heart as he found him quite easily. The small fissure in his shields the night before was widening into a noticeable gap. In this state, his emotions disorganized and his Force abilities uncontrolled, he would be obvious to any Force user within a lightyear. A small shudder escaped through Ben's body. If Luke were discovered by the Empire… he could not bear to contemplate the results of _that_.

Ben took off at a run toward the beacon in the Force that was Luke Skywalker. The boy had not—thank the Force—gotten far, just beyond a rock formation south of the door. As soon as he saw his quarry he slowed to study him. He was not moving very fast, just meandering aimlessly, it seemed.

The worn Jedi approached him and put a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him around. Luke did not offer any resistance. Ben examined him for a moment, not sure what to do next. Down-turned eyes and a drooped head made it difficult to see him so Ben knelt before him, bringing his chin up with a tentative hand.

"Where are you going, Luke?" he asked softly. The same silence and desolate eyes greeted him, but this time a stirring in the Force gave him knowledge of the guilt and despair so prevalent in the boy.

_First things first_, Ben thought and carefully wrapped his own mental shields around Luke's mind, protecting him from detection. If Vader was still on Tatooine, Ben dared not reach into the Force far enough to know for sure, they would need to be tightly shielded. Then he took the boy's hand, intending to lead him back into the hut.

Luke jerked his hand away and started rubbing it vigorously on the nondescript cloth of the tunic. Ben tugged his hand back uncertainly and looked at it. One of the cuts had re-opened and was slowly oozing, turning Luke's sun-browned skin to the color of rust. The blood was thick and glutinous, another testament to the child's severe dehydration.

"It isn't safe out here alone. I will keep you safe, Luke, will you come back inside with me?"

There was no response so Ben simply stood and directed him back into the dwelling.

ooOOoo

Darth Vader had halted his ministrations to the aged Toydarian as he felt a ripple in the Force. That had been hours ago now and, had Watto been conscious, he might have been grateful for the interruption. The Dark Lord had been meditating on the source of the disturbance. It had grown stronger for a time but then simply retreated, much like a wave crashing on the sand. Then it had surged briefly and disappeared. It might have just been a random fluctuation, but there was a feeling of something almost… _familiar_ in it. And, for what reason he could not fathom, his mind had wandered back to the Lars farm and the fleeting impression he had gotten as he stood in the doorway of the garage. He had brushed the impression off when he had felt nothing else, but this disturbance coming so close made him reconsider.

However, nothing had been forthcoming from the Force, since whatever it was had disappeared, much to the Sith's frustration. He decided to keep vigilant watch while he remained in the area for anything else out of the ordinary, but unless it proved to be important, he would _not_ prolong his stay. Being in orbit of Tatooine, with periodic necessary trips to the surface, was bad enough without drawing this mission on longer than the Emperor demanded. Having made this decision to himself, he exited his chambers to find another outlet for his dissatisfaction in returning to Watto.

ooOOoo

Ben watched as Luke fed himself small amounts of the thin gruel he had been provided with. He had drunk the offered water readily enough but his eating was agonizingly slow. Incongruously, and perhaps even a tad irreverently, Ben held back a smile—he had never seen a child so unwilling to eat. Of course, his own childhood at the Temple had been predominantly filled with Reeft begging food off anyone and everyone…

Ben blinked. It had been _years_ since he had thought of his childhood. He was somewhat startled by the sudden nostalgia he felt and could only attribute this stirring of memories to the presence of the child before him. He mentally shook himself and focused once more on Luke, belatedly realizing the boy had not lifted the spoon again for some minutes. There was a little food left in the bottom of the bowl, but Ben was glad enough that Luke had been able to feed himself that he did not say anything about it.

The only problem now was figuring out what to do next. It had been ages since he had been around children, it seemed, and never had he been with a child in Luke's…situation. The first order of business, he reminded himself, was speaking.

Contemplating how to best go about doing that, he rose from where he had been sitting and cleared away the bowl. After cleaning it he turned to find that Luke had not moved from his seat beside the table but was watching him with intense eyes.

"Would you let me reapply the azhali cream? Your sunburn will get rather uncomfortable without it."

Luke made no response, did not even blink in acknowledgement of the question. Ben picked up a cloth and a bottle of antibacterial cleanser and handed them to Luke. "Wash your hands," he instructed, just to see if the boy would respond to anything today. Obediently, Luke did as he was told. Ben sighed inwardly. This was certainly going to be a long day.

He took the cleanser and cloth back and retrieved the sunburn cream and applied it as he had the previous day, Luke being just as cooperative. This, however, only took him five minutes and the day was still young. He decided to try once more with Luke and so, as he was screwing the cap back on the cream, he asked, "Is there anything you would like to do today?"

Luke flinched.

_Well, at least I got _some_ reaction,_ he thought wryly.

ooOOoo

Tatoo II was sinking beyond the horizon of the Jundland Wastes when Ben stepped outside the hut. He rubbed his forehead tiredly. He had finally managed to get Luke to respond to something. The child had still said nothing and was now refusing to meet Ben's eyes, but he had taken an interest in an old broken cooling unit. He had spent hours, apparently completely content, tinkering with the wires and capacitors.

_Except not content at all._ He had watched Luke carefully and the boy's face had showed no happiness or contentment. For the most part his face had been disconcertingly blank; the only emotion to show had been occasional frustration when what he was doing wasn't working the way it should.

A small tendril of fear made its way through Ben's mind. The only emotions he had sensed from the boy since he had first found him had been frustration, guilt, depression and despair.

All emotions of the dark side.

_You are overreacting! He's just had a horrendous experience,_ Ben told himself once again. _But how to help him?_ That was the quandary.

_I failed so spectacularly the last time I tried to lead someone away from the dark side. What can I do now?_ He closed his eyes as he recognized his own despair and negative emotions clouding in. Breathing in deeply the rapidly cooling air he settled into a light meditation to help focus his mind.

A gentle nudge in the Force…

He smiled.

_Master_.

ooOOoo

Vader left the interrogation room in disgust. Watto had expired moments before, leaving Vader once again angry and frustrated without any outlets. As he strode through the corridors of the vessel the officers and soldiers all saluted him, but he ignored them. Entering his quarters, he picked up the datapad waiting for him with the reports of the day's progress on implementing the Imperial infrastructure.

_Census records in processing._

Who really cared what wretched beings lived on this Force-forsaken dustball?

_School building being remodeled._

Utterly banal information…

_Medcenter up and running smoothly._

_Stormtroopers engaging Sandpeople and Jabba's minions._

Vader paused. The Hutts were still in power. Jabba was still around. Was Gardulla possibly still alive as well? Fiendish anticipation filled Vader as he remembered the first master to own Shmi and Anakin Skywalker. Purposefully now, he placed the datapad back on the table and left the room.

"Commander Cody," Vader spoke, approaching the Stormtrooper commander in charge of dismantling the power of the crime lords, "tell me more about the Hutts in control still."

ooOOoo

It had been years since Qui-Gon had spoken to him. It seemed that once his old master had instructed him in retaining his identity after becoming one with the Force, there had been no reason to contact him any longer. It had been horribly lonely, after spending months learning once again in the familiar pattern, to suddenly be bereft even of that company. He had been left only with his memories for solace and they were not much comfort.

_Master_, he repeated silently again.

_Padawan_, came the rumbling, familiar tone.

Warily Ben reached further into the Force to connect more fully with Qui-Gon Jinn.

_He will not sense us. This ability is something he does not know about or understand and so will not appear out of the ordinary to him._ His unspoken fears were quelled.

_What do I need to do, Master? How do I help Luke?_

There was no answer for a moment but then a memory surfaced.

_Twenty-one year old Obi-Wan Kenobi sat, unmoving, on a rock in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. For the past two days he had occupied only his room and this spot, trying desperately to find peace and make sense of what had happened. _

_His good friend Garen was dead. The mission was supposed to have been routine, but pirates had attacked the ship and Garen had died protecting some civilians. His master had been gravely injured, but survived. But the Padawan…_

_Obi-Wan had seen death before. Had seen its effects on others. Had killed. He remembered the fearful time when he was fourteen and Tahl had been killed. He saw and felt, to an extent, his Master's pain._

_He remembered well his own reaction to Cerasi's senseless death on Melida/Daan. But somehow this was different…_

_This was Garen, his friend, his playmate when they were young, his confidante as a teenager. Garen had always been there. He didn't really remember a time without the other boy. He had never thought he would loose him. _

_He had been a constant._

_Now he was gone._

Ben sighed as the memory receded. He understood what Qui-Gon was trying to show him. Garen had been, in a small way, what Owen and Beru had been to Luke. Something that had _always_ been there was suddenly missing.

_Patience, my Padawan, gentleness, and love are what will help the child most. Children are naturally resilient, he just needs time and care._ Qui-Gon's authoritative advice sounded so easy.

_Love, Master?_

_Love._ Qui-Gon replied firmly.

ooOOoo

Two days later Ben was still working on the patience, gentleness and love parts. Luke _still_ had yet to speak, which was Ben's top priority as school was creeping closer and closer to beginning. However the boy did seem somewhat more comfortable and had taken the initiative to wash his own dinner plate that night. Ben had tucked Luke in for the night and was, himself, sitting up late contemplating his finances. Supporting a young child was not something he had ever planned on. Hs own needs were small and he had been sufficient for himself, but with Luke…. He didn't dare apply for Imperial Aid and he couldn't exactly go out and get a job while Luke needed him.

While racking his brain a brief memory returned to him and he stood suddenly. He was still for a moment, trying to remember where he might have put it, but then he moved assuredly to some shelves in a recessed portion of the room. He crouched low to the ground and reached for the metal lock-box that sat there. Blowing the dust and cobwebs away, and sending a brown spider scurrying across the floor, he pulled the box onto his lap. A small Force nudge and the lock clicked.

He opened the box and examined the contents. There was Anakin's lightsaber on top. He quickly removed it and set it aside. Under it was a datapad and a few datachips. Flicking through them and briefly examining the markings, he found the one he wanted.

Sticking it in the pad, he examined the contents. Just as he had remembered.

Yoda had had the wisdom to withdraw what Jedi resources he had access to at the time and deposit them on this credit chip. Padmé had done the same. Though the value was now greatly diminished, the Republican Credits worthless, there were still some titles to raw materials that could be sold for Imperial Credits.

It was a start.

Grateful to have some idea of how he and Luke were going to survive, Ben replaced everything in the box and stowed it away once more. Moving to where he now slept, on the floor as Luke had the alcove cot, he noticed the wind had picked up outside. It buffeted against the hut, coming out of the northwest across the Dune Sea. There would most likely be a sand storm during the night.

Even as Ben stopped to listen to the wind it seemed to pick up speed. It started to howl and Ben recognized that it was now blowing over the numerous crags and caves that started at his hill and continued into the mesas of the Jundland Wastes. Occasionally the winds of the sandstorms would grow so loud as to be deafening, and created an eerie cacophony as they played across the openings. It seemed tonight would be such a night.

_No rest for the weary._ Ben thought, almost petulantly, as he tried to get to sleep despite the awful noise.

And then he heard a soft whimpering. He turned around to find Luke awake, huddled on his cot, trying to cover his ears, eyes wide with fear.


	4. Chapter 3: Son of Skywalker

**Chapter 3: Son of Skywalker**

Ben sat up from his pad on the floor. "Luke? What's wrong?"

Was he getting a vision of some sort, or a flashback? Force, there was so much Ben didn't know about this little one. Sometimes he longed for a window into that young mind, so strongly closed away.

A particularly loud howl of wind rocked the tiny building, and Luke flinched. Then he seemed to come to some sort of a decision. He scrambled down from the cot, the thin blanket flying away from his bare feet, and hurtled over to Ben, falling against his chest in a huddled, frightened ball, one little hand fisting in his collar.

Knocked off balance, Ben fell against the wall behind him with a muffled _oomph._ He quickly regained his equilibrium and sat up, hesitantly wrapping his arms around the loose tangle of shaking limbs that was his little charge. This was the first time Luke had responded to him in such a way, the first time he'd sought any sort of contact, and Ben didn't want to push too hard, too fast.

For a moment Luke pressed his face against Ben's chest, jerking slightly as the wind built in intensity, and at last the Jedi understood. It was the storm. Luke was afraid of the storm, as any normal child this young probably would be. No doubt he'd never heard it sound so, as the Lars homestead was built recessed in the ground to protect against the fury of nature. Ben's little home was not so well protected, and the nearby canyons provided many wails and screams that would have been entirely absent elsewhere.

"It's just the wind," Ben said softly, instinctively rocking the boy back and forth in his arms. "It's just a storm. Nothing to fear, here—it can't get inside. It can't hurt you."

Luke pushed his hands against Ben's chest, leaning back to look up at him. The young face was crumpled unhappily, tears blurring the bright blue eyes just visible in the light from the luma Ben left on at night. "Aunt Beru," he said, young voice cracking.

Ben blinked. The boy had spoken! "I . . . I'm not sure I understand, little one."

"Aunt Beru!" The hands clenching the sleep tunic over Ben's chest pulled desperately, urging him to listen, to understand. "Where? Aunt Beru!"

The thin cry rose, rivaling the whistling wail of the wind outside. Ben's hands wandered uncertainly in the air, lighting on the child's forehead, shoulders, arms, a tear-wet cheek. It must have been Beru who the boy went to on nights like this. How could an exiled Jedi, a relic of a lost civilization with only memories to hold him, ever hope to replace a mother?

"Beru . . . Beru is gone, Luke," he whispered. "I'm sorry. Both your aunt and your uncle are gone. I'm so sorry."

Luke seemed to be having trouble breathing—he gasped for air in harsh, shaky pants, faster and faster as his distress built. "Why?" Again he jerked at Ben's sleep tunic. "Why?"

Why did they leave me? What did I do wrong? Why did they have to go away? Aren't they coming back? What did I do?

"No, no," Ben answered the unspoken questions, shaking his head quickly. "It wasn't your fault. You did nothing wrong. You are innocent, Luke, completely innocent. It could never be your fault."

Another howl of wind sent Luke crashing against Ben's chest again, clinging desperately. With a bit more confidence this time, Ben wrapped his arms around the child and held him close, whispering reassurances, pouring waves of calm and healing into the shattered spirit. He should have realized that the boy would feel responsible for his relatives' deaths—it was a common reaction in young children, he had heard.

But as for _why_ . . . The true reason would take far too long to explain, and Luke did not have the capacity to understand much of the long, sad, tale. Ben did not want to brush over it with a pat lie, nor ignore it. But perhaps it would be better not to answer right now.

Eventually Luke calmed, resting quietly against the man, though Ben could feel the tension in his body and knew that the boy would not be able to sleep for some time now. The storm began to fade, also, and the loud shrieks and wails came with less intensity and frequency. Ben realized that he was stroking the boy's hair, gently passing his fingers through the silky blonde locks, and that he had been doing so for some time. He didn't stop.

"Shall I tell you a story? Your uncle probably never told you, but I knew your father. Knew him very well. He was best star pilot in the galaxy, and a cunning warrior . . . and good friend. There was one time that he saved my life . . ."

The words came more easily than he had expected them to. Just a bedtime tale to put the child to sleep, an innocuous little adventure on a distant world. He edited it somewhat, glossing over anything that might trouble the traumatized youngster, drawing out colorful details, making wry jokes that he rather doubted Luke would be able to appreciate just yet. The child shifted, leaning with his back against Ben's side, his head on his shoulder. He did not resist the arm that held him securely, nor the hand in his hair, but he didn't respond, either.

By the time the storm died away completely, Luke was asleep.

X

It was a beginning. It wasn't an instant cure—Luke didn't turn back into a typical child, babbling his adventures to anyone who would listen, asking questions and seeking answers. The most Ben got out of him was a word here and there, usually fewer than a dozen in a single day. The boy still relied mostly on body language and facial expression to communicate. But it was a beginning.

Two days later Ben leaned down to look into the cooling box and found it practically empty—just a mostly-gone tub of spread and a seasoning root. The cupboards were in the same state. The man grimaced as he straightened.

"Supplies," he said morosely to the boy sitting at the table, waiting with his usual calm, blank expression for breakfast to be served. "I think we have half a loaf of bread. You don't eat enough to keep a klesial alive, my little friend, but we've still managed to deplete my resources twice as quickly as usual."

"Toast?" Luke suggested, raising his eyebrows.

Ben smiled. The child rarely offered his ideas, but when he did, they were quite useful and original. "Yes, we can have toast. And then we'd better see about making a supply run."

While Luke ate his dry little bit of bread with its smear of yellowish spread in his usual small, widely-spaced bites, Ben considered how this was going to work. He really didn't want to take the child all the way to Anchorhead just yet, let alone Mos Eisley. By eopie, the trip was rather long and tiresome, and he didn't want Luke out in the sun for so long, even with all the azhali cream in the galaxy stocked in his cupboard. Maybe he should see about buying a speeder . . . just a little one . . . wouldn't do for young Luke to get enamored with speed just yet, though Ben knew he wouldn't be able to avoid it for long.

Ben looked at his little charge with a speculative eye. In the meantime, perhaps it was time to re-introduce the lost-and-found boy to a limited amount of society. An old man certainly couldn't provide enough socialization for a child. He needed to get used to being around people again, but in a safe and friendly environment.

At last he nodded, his mind made up. The Darklighters. They had offered to help in any way they could when he commed a few families to let them know that the last member of the Lars family was still alive, and had been found. Surely they would be willing to babysit for an afternoon, though Ben didn't plan to make a habit of asking. The boy seemed to be doing all right with just this failed old Jedi, for a miracle, and he didn't want to upset the fragile balance they'd found.

Luke carefully licked the crumbs off his fingers, then looked up at Ben curiously, sensing the change in his caretaker's mood. His eyes asked the question his mouth was unwilling to form.

"I think it's time we went out," Ben said. "How would like to see your friend, Biggs? I know it's been awhile, and I'm sure he's missed you."

Luke lowered his eyes with a small frown, obviously lost in thought. "Biggs?" he repeated after a moment, his voice so soft that Ben had to strain to hear it.

Ben shifted in his chair to be a little closer to the boy, and lowered his head near Luke's sandy mop. "Don't you remember Biggs, little one?"

The small face folded inward on itself in doubt and confusion, and Ben could feel the buried memories stirring, struggling to rise, but too deeply mired in the cold mud of loss. The child had repressed almost everything that had happened before that terrible morning, and drawing out one memory threatened to unearth the entire mess. It was too much to deal with all at once, and Ben's heart squeaked in alarm.

Quickly he reached out to caress Luke's forehead, deeply wrinkled with the effort of looking back. "It's all right. Never mind. It's not important. You can make friends all over again."

Slowly Luke's face cleared, the clouds brushed away by the gentle breeze of Ben's acceptance. After a moment he looked up, and nodded slightly, the movement slow and guarded. Ben nodded back, smiling encouragement.

That had been a close call. Ben knew that they would need to deal with all of this eventually, but surely they could find an easy, less traumatic way of drawing out the hidden memories. It was too much for a little boy.

And perhaps too much for an old man, as well.

Ben shook his head, denying that thought quickly. Where had it come from, anyway? Certainly not from him. He snorted slightly.

Shaking it off as quickly as he could, Ben picked up the little comlink that rested on the corner of the table and entered the frequency for the Darklighter homestead.

"Hello, Siara? It's Ben. I was wondering if you could look after Luke for me for a few hours today."

She said something, but Ben barely heard her, his eyes fixed on the child who gazed up at him with open curiosity. Trust was beginning to grow there, as beautiful and fragile as a t'lil blossom just starting to open wafer-thin petals to the light of the sun. Luke still kept most of himself close and hidden, defending from the galaxy that had hurt him. But now he met Ben's eyes, and sometimes watched him for hours, as if trying to puzzle out the mystery of his existence, of his continuous, patient care.

And Ben realized something. Qui-Gon's command had been obeyed without conscious effort, opening in him softly and easily, a twin blossom for the trust in the child. He loved this boy. Deeply and absolutely. And he would do anything to protect him, not just because he was Anakin's son, because he was the last hope of the galaxy, because he had been through more hell than any little one ought ever to see, but simply because he was Luke.

He shook his head, dragging his attention back to Siara's words. Something about "little Luke Skywalker," and "such a horrible thing," and some random phrases about Beru. Ben interrupted gently but firmly. "Yes, Siara. I trust you to take good care of him. But that name is not safe anymore. Owen and Beru's nephew died three weeks ago. This is my boy. Luke Kenobi."


	5. Chapter 4: School Days

Sooo, this chapter has been available for about four years on TFN. It just somehow never got here.

Chapter 4

School days

The speeder barely fit the two of them, even as small as Luke was; it did, however, run. Of course there was the option of having Luke picked up every morning and dropped off every night by the school shuttle, but Ben was not about to let Imperials that close to his home. So, the two of them were squished rather close together in the vehicle as Ben took Luke to school on the first day.

The child was still silent most of the time, speaking in a whisper when he spoke at all, but not even the Force could delay the opening of school. Not without attracting too much attention anyway. Vader was long gone now, but he had left a full garrison and a territorial governor on Tatooine—which made for a great number of changes on Tatooine. While there had only been a small Imperial presence before, now it was almost as if the desert planet mattered. The old Jedi didn't want to concentrate too long on why Vader was determined to keep such a close eye on the place.

Ben hoped against hope that the new school system would have all new teachers—that way they wouldn't notice the name change for one little boy. It was a blessing that most of the students who would remember Luke well enough to remember his old last name were older than him—and therefore would not be in the same class.

The school building was a new Imperial structure: prefabricated design of a non-descript color. Oddly, it reminded Ben of a Jedi's wardrobe. He shook his head to get that thought out. It wasn't the time to get distracted right now. The two exited the speeder, Ben taking Luke by the hand, and they walked into the building. There was a droid standing at the entrance directing parents and students to the appropriate areas.

"Is this student registered in the Imperial Database of Citizens?" The droid asked automatically.

"No," Ben answered casually—he knew that half, or more, of the students going here were not registered either, so there was no danger in revealing this.

"Please go to room 4A to register your student."

Ben nodded politely and led Luke down the hall.

Behind them they heard someone else entering. The droid repeated the question, but the answer this time was in the affirmative, and they were directed to room 4B. Ben glanced back and saw a man leading a girl. Luke, confused, tugged on Ben's sleeve. The older man nodded and walked slowly down the hall. As the girl and her father passed by them, Ben tripped and stumbled into the man.

"Oh sir," Ben said, attempting to control his voice but flushing a deep red, "I'm sorry!"

The father gave him a brief annoyed look and hurried his daughter along. Luke stared at Ben, he had never seen him trip before. His guardian however now had a serene smile on his face. They arrived quickly at room 4A and were greeted by a rather long line leading to two rather harried nurses and one Imperial census officer. It seemed to be taking a while for each child to be processed. Some parents weren't sure how old their child was or, even if they had a rough estimate, didn't know the exact date. Luckily, they had given up earlier on registering the parents right now.

There was little room so Ben sat down on a bench and pulled Luke into his lap. The former Jedi Master had discovered that Luke liked being held—it gave him comfort. Ben suspected that prior to the trauma he had experienced, Luke had considered himself too old to be cuddled anymore, but in the face of the crisis, now took what love he could find. Despite the noise of the room Luke soon fell asleep.

An hour later it was Luke's turn. Ben smiled wanly at the nurse who prepped the diagnoster with a new blood sampler. She moved to press it against Luke's arm, but Ben stopped her. "May I? I can do it without waking him." The nurse hesitated but acquiesced. Gently, Ben rubbed the skin briefly with a disinfectant and then used the diagnoster. Luke barely stirred as the small needle punctured his skin. The nurse looked puzzled for a moment, had some blood actually appeared in the sampler before the needle was activated? She shook herself—she must be getting tired—and took the blood sample from the man. She labeled it with an ID number and handed him the plasticard with the same ID number on it and directed him to the census table.

"Plasti," the young, bored, Imperial said holding out his hand. Ben handed it to him and watched him slide it into his terminal.

"Name?"

"Luke Kenobi."

"Age, in standard years."

"Ah, eight?" Ben said, as though he were guessing.

The officer didn't seem to find this unusual, just rolled his eyes and put in the day as the first day of the year.

"Parents?"

"Unknown," Ben answered.

The census worker looked up at him with a frown.

"He's an orphan who I took in years ago. I've been with him since he was little. As far as I can tell, his parents are deceased. I gave him my name because he didn't know his own last name when I found him."

The officer gave a frustrated sigh and entered this information as a footnote. These really were backwater hicks—he shouldn't have expected any better.

"Address?"

Ben gave him a confused look.

_Yep, these were_ definitely _backwater hicks_.

As Ben carried Luke out of the room and to the assigned classroom, he sighed in relief. He hoped his hastily made blood sample (the blood of the man he had run into, and his own spliced with a quick Force-burst) would not cause any problems. He really did not want Luke's own blood DNA in the Imperial Database because it was bound to be noticed, using his own blood was only slightly less risky.

He arrived at the door to Luke's assigned classroom and finally nudged the child awake.

"This is where we split up Luke. I am going to a parents' meeting and you are going to meet your teacher and fellow students."

Luke's eyes widened in fear and he instinctively tightened his grip on Ben.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine Luke. I'll be right back here when class ends to pick you up. Just go on in," Ben slowly tried to pry Luke's fingers off him, smiling kindly. "You'll be fine, trust me Luke."

The boy nodded and let go, looking down at the floor. He seemed to shrink for a moment before he lifted his head up again, determinedly, and marched into the classroom.

Ben smiled softly and whispered, "That's my boy."

ooOOoo

The adults were all gathered in a large meeting hall in the center of the school building. Most had found friends and were chatting while they waited; a few men had even started a game of Sabacc in one corner. Ben, not wanting to appear different, approached Siara Darklighter.

"Ben," she greeted when she noticed him, "how are you doing?"

"Well, thank you. How is your family?"

"Fine, fine. Biggs didn't want to get out of bed this morning. Every other morning, he's up at the crack of dawn, but on the first day of school…" she trailed off with a smile.

Ben chuckled slightly. He had gotten to know Biggs a little over the past few weeks. He was an energetic boy, but was kind and patient with Luke's silence and reticence, making him the ideal playmate. Ben had shamelessly taken advantage of this in order to get Luke used to more people and to get him some friends.

"How is Luke doing?" Siara asked, concerned.

"Better. It is still slow going, but better. Being around your family has certainly helped him."

"We enjoy having him over. Heaven knows that child could never be a nuisance."

They made small talk for a few minutes before they were called to attention by an Imperial officer at the podium. They all took seats and the officer addressed them.

"Welcome to the start of a new era on Tatooine. The Empire has seen fit to restructure certain aspects of this planet, and you are the lucky beneficiaries."

A few cheers went up in the crowd. Ben looked around him and, to his astonishment, saw most people smiling and nodding. They were _happy_ about this change. _Well_, Ben thought to himself, _I shouldn't be too surprised, these people have lived for generations at the whim of gangsters, smugglers and bounty hunters_. He guessed that at least a handful of those in the crowd were previous slaves of the Hutts. A snide voice spoke in his head,_well, what do you know, Vader_ did _free the slaves_. He scowled and bent his head, trying to reign in his thoughts. He focused instead on the fact that the crowd was 100% human. He sighed; these people would learn soon enough what the Empire was about.

Meanwhile a presentation was in progress that included an overview of the school curriculum. It included a lot of fancy diagrams and big words, that Ben suspected were simply used to awe the parents. Literacy was not high on Tatooine and, though he hated to admit it, the Imperial Education System was better than what had been there before. Most of these adults would probably lag far behind their children in most subject areas. He realized that was another thing he had to be careful about: how much knowledge he showed—it wouldn't do to have someone become suspicious because he knew too much about navigational computation or advanced particle physics (both standard courses at the Temple). It was alright that he could speak a few languages—most people on Tatooine spoke Basic and Huttese natively plus a few more.

It was much easier living as a hermit that no one cared about. However, now that he had care of Luke he could hardly live the life of a recluse. Thinking of Luke brought a smile to his face. He ignored the rest of the presentation and instead meditated on his growing relationship with Anakin's son.

His attachment—his love—was growing and he didn't mind at all; in fact, he thought it the most amazing thing he had ever experienced.


End file.
